


Journal Entry 1674

by SpyderScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Journal, Letter, Love Letters, Season/Series 07, The Season of Secret Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpyderScully/pseuds/SpyderScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I indulge in a little head canon that Mulder keeps a journal that he writes in when he can't sleep. In it he sometimes addresses his thoughts out to Scully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Scully

_Scully—_  
  
_Since starting this journal, I’ve been pretty consistent with keeping it up, give or take a few days out of every month. It goes everywhere with me, even when we’re out of town on a case. You’ve never seen it, I doubt you even know that I keep it, especially since I only write in it during the small hours of the morning when I can’t sleep. So…just about every night, really._  
  
_I began this journal the night after you disappeared five years ago. In it are pages and pages of thoughts, ideas, dreams, and desires I never, ever dared to tell you. They started out simple enough—hoping you were alive wherever you had been taken, how desperate I was to find you. After you had been returned, I wondered what you were doing on a Saturday night, or whether or not it was too early on a weekday morning for me to call you just to hear your voice. It didn’t matter that I’d be seeing you in a few hours._  
  
_Then they became serious thoughts; richer thoughts. I began to admit to myself how much I feel for you, how essential to my life you’ve become. And I told you in these pages—I said all the things here that I could never utter to you. I began wondering what it would be like to kiss that pulse on the curve of your neck, to smell your sweat, to hear you say the words I swore I would never believe._  
  
_It’s a jumble, Scully. There’s a lot of garbage scribbled in these pages, but it’s all from the heart. It’s all true._  
  
_Tonight, I’m writing for a different reason. Tonight, when I look over from this desk and towards the messed up quilt that is my bed, it’s not empty like it has been for the last five years. You’re there, sound asleep. Even from here in the near darkness I can see your hair in a tangle on the pillow, and I feel something hot and powerful move through me as I look at you._  
  
_Your brother once called me a sorry son of a bitch; often I think he’s right. But tonight Scully, I feel like the luckiest sorry son of a bitch in the world._  
  
_Before I got up to write this entry tonight at…3:07 in the morning, I made myself a promise that it will be the last time I talk to you in this journal. After tonight you deserve to know everything, and I won’t hide behind these sheets of paper any longer. Somewhere within me I feel that we have all the time in the world to say the things we want to say, but I don’t want to waste a minute of it. So it starts now._  
  
_I’m grateful for this journal, I’m glad it gave me a place to talk to you in ways I previously felt unable. But now I know the first thing I’m going to say to you when I see your eyes open tomorrow morning._  
  
_I love you, Scully._


	2. Dear Mulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully responds to Mulder's love note.

_Mulder—_  
  
_Please don't be alarmed or startled when you see this entry when and if you pick up this journal again. This was born in a moment of human curiosity and weakness._  
  
_I started writing this shortly after you left to pick up some breakfast. Our exchange this morning was short: a brief kiss and a smile before you expressed your desire for food and left me to to steal a few more minutes of sleep._  
  
_I didn't intend to snoop, I promise—I was curious when I spotted your journal on the nightstand. Nearly everything in me told me not to touch it, but the one part of me that wanted—no, needed—to understand a little more of you won._  
  
_I didn't read much, my conscience wouldn't allow it, but I read enough. Enough to be reminded of the way you looked at me this morning and the way you touched me last night. Your honesty and integrity within these pages struck me to my core, and I felt compelled to respond to your latest passage, to respond to this new insight on my partner. To even the stakes, as it were._  
  
_To say this previous night was indescribable is an understatement. I don't quite have a way with writing as you do, Mulder; I wish I did, because maybe then I could describe my wonder at it. For years I considered our friendship the closest and most emotionally connected I've known in my life. Eight hours previous proved to me that this new step we've taken surpasses comparison. I felt treasured. I found myself surprised at how attentive you were, how gentle—although knowing you as I have all these years, it really should not be surprising._  
  
_It’s taking a lot for me to admit this—I’m scared. Not of you, not of us, but of the fact that I have no previous experience(s) with which to compare these feelings. So I shall do what I always do—I will trust you._  
  
_You have put your heart on the line countless times, both in our lives and our work and within these pages. I don't consider myself an easy person to love, but I promise to you I will continue to strive to be the woman you believe me to be._  
  
_You wrote that you swore you’d never be able to believe these words, so I will say them to you now and know that I mean them with everything that I am: I love you, Mulder. I LOVE you._  
  
_—Scully_


	3. Twelve Hours and Sixteen Minutes

_Scully—_

_I’m writing this and I realize it’s been three weeks since you wrote me in this journal. I’m only noticing it now because this is the first weekend we’ve been apart since you came to me and I'm itching to occupy myself today. I only saw your note because I’m trying to clean my place—be proud of me!—and saw the book had been moved from where I originally left it._

_It’s been twelve hours since I last saw you. Twelve hours and sixteen minutes to be precise and I know it sounds pathetic but I already ache. I know I promised you that I would actively tell you how I feel from now on, but sometimes I can’t help but slip back into old habits, fall away into the safety of speaking to you with the written word. I have a better chance of actually being eloquent when I write._

_God, I’m sitting here now and glancing around the room, imagining all the ways you’ve touched it. Your empty glass is on the nightstand. There’s an extra blanket on my bed now (I have never known anyone to have feet as icy as yours, Scully). You’ve left your running shoes by the closet. I bet there’s some mysterious makeup thing on my bathroom counter somewhere. You completely surround me and all it does is remind me of how much I miss you._

_My left hand is resting on the desk, and I just realized I’ve been running my fingers up and down the edge as I write as though it was your skin. I’m instantly brought back to yesterday morning and the feeling of your smooth thighs beneath my palms. I’m already addicted to that sound you make when I kiss your throat, it hits me right in my gut._

_You’d patiently smile if I admitted this to you and yet you wouldn’t breath a word against my dependence on you, though I’m certain you’ve known about it for ages. But in some ways, I’m guiltless in this, Scully. I’ve suspected for a few years that you were a passionate spirit, I got little sips of it every now and again in our time as friends. Now I am drunk with the generous gulps of your liquor and I can’t get enough._

_You wrote that you’re not an easy person to love. I disagree, Scully. Within the last few weeks I’ve seen such a change in you. Or rather, I believe you are letting me see parts that have always been there. You may be scared (I’m absolutely paralyzingly terrified), but as always you’re meeting the challenge with the strength that you have always possessed._

_You’d give me a look right now for continuing to put off the housework, so I’m going to close this here. The weekend can’t end soon enough. I’m going to have breakfast waiting for you on Monday when you come into work. I once brought you flowers and I remember your happy reaction. I want to please you like that again._

_—Mulder_

_PS. —in your writing you as good as admitted to feelings of guilt for reading what is in this journal. Don’t feel guilty. I’m giving you full breadth to read it as you please. It’s always been for you, anyway._


End file.
